


Come Back

by MartinaHolmes



Series: Come Back [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (BBC Radio)
Genre: Depression, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, Non-Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock and John reunite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:25:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MartinaHolmes/pseuds/MartinaHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John cannot deal with Sherlock's death any more and decides to go to a night club for a drink- all to forget.  Sherlock is found abusing drugs. Both men fall into each others paths.<br/>There may be a continuation but only if people seem to like the first part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Back

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever piece of writing. Ever. It makes it even harder when you know English isn't your first language. I hope y'all enjoy, please do leave comments and criticism. I want to get better and need your help! However, no hate please as it WILL discourage me. :)

Come Back

 

John finally turned the key to his GP room and closed the clinic at exactly half 8 in the evening with a pounding head and sore eyes. He couldn't see properly anymore and felt the migraine creeping in on him like it had the habit nowadays since Sherlock...”No,” thought John while trying to catch the cab home, “Stop thinking about it,stop..”. He still couldn't confront the daunting image of Sherlock's body restlessly lying on that pavement, those dark locks of hair covering his face, his beautiful face..”Stop here!” John suddenly exclaimed to the cab driver who instantly pulled over to the left hand side of the street, the doctor needed a walk, a fast walk away from his thoughts and feelings and this pain inside his chest swelling up, building up inside like a virus. The wind was cold, almost painful to endure. John could feel the first tiny drops of rain on his cheeks but kept walking as if oblivious to the conditions surrounding him. Back at the clinic, not even an hour before, all he wished for was to get home, to bury his body in the bed and fall to sleep as quick as he could, but now he felt nauseous thinking about going back to his room. The last thing he wanted was to feel the same emptiness, the same suffocating loneliness he felt every night without Sherlock. Rain started to fall even more drastically on his head and only then he noticed where he is. His subconscious mind filled with sorrow brought him here again. To Baker Street. John's stomach gave a sickening turn and he felt his body freeze, unable to move. The building stood untouched, unchanged. The same curtains covered the thin windows where John could almost see Sherlock's silhouette move in harmony with the sweet music from his violin. John's mind filled with pathetic longing, longing for something he will never get back, for something he can't get back. He couldn't distinguish between the rain and the tears that fell from his cheeks, down into the collar of his coat. “You're a soldier Watson, get a grip.” He thought as he looked around the deserted street,he could not see a sign of life. He straightened up, took a breath and tried to ignore the suffocating feeling holding back his tears brought him. He kept the key to 221b with him at all times, out of sentiment or just not knowing when he'll feel ready. He still doesn't feel ready but he knows he needs to go inside now. Today. John took a step towards the old black door that used to welcome both John and Sherlock at the end of the day, and opened the door with his key. A cloud of smell attacked John and he felt his knees weaken as he exposed himself to the smell he knew so well. A mixture of the sweet dull wood and dust overpowered his mind drawing him up the stairs towards the room he used to embrace the happiest moments of his life. Three months he avoided this room, three months he couldn't think of how empty it must look without him. And now when he finally came face to face with the hollow room standing before him, his head pounded even harder and he held on to the edge of the sofa for balance. The doctor stood there, time completely oblivious to him as he braced himself for the worst part of it: not hearing Sherlock's voice. John closed his eyes holding back the tears once more promising himself he will be strong. But how can he be strong when everything that was perfect, everything that was right was taken away from him so abruptly. “Please Sherlock, please, don't be dead, please..” John repeated inside his head like a mantra designed to bring the dead back to the living. ”John?” a voice sounded from the bottom of the stairs giving John chills all down his body. For a split second he fooled himself that maybe it was Sherlock's voice, Sherlock calling him, but that stupid thought dissolved quickly as John came to the realisation, the only realisation he'll ever know: Sherlock's dead. “Mrs. Hudson, it is John, I'm coming down now.” and with a last quick glance at the room, he turned himself towards the stairs to confront his ex-landlady. “My goodness John, you look appalling, please, do come in for a cuppa-” Mrs Hudson exclaimed as soon as she saw Johns face in a better light. It was the last thing John wanted to hear at the moment, the last person he wanted to confront knowing she is the person that understands the most. John felt exposed to Mrs. Hudson's understanding, he didn't want to be understood, he didn't want sympathy or pity. All he wanted was for Sherlock to come back home, to come back to him. “Mrs. Hudson I will be in touch, I will-..I am so..-” John stumbled upon his words and fought his way out of Mrs. Hudson's view and out through the black door. 

John sank into his chair, with a cup of tea in his hand and the TV remote on the table next to him. He sat there, unchanged in posture, for god knows how long. He seemed to drop in and out of the concious state of mind, until all he could feel and think about was his pain and his empty sorrow that never stopped no matter how hard he tried to push it to the back of his brain. He thought the visit to Baker Street would bring him closure, an understanding of his loss and eventually help to forget. All he did to himself however was make new wounds on top of the ones Sherlock's death made on him. With each growing minute he felt a growing anger toward the situation he found himself in. He felt a burning desire to punish himself for the fact he couldn't cope with something so 'small' compared to his dreadful missions in Afghanistan. Minutes passed and he already knew what his night will look like. In an hour when he will no longer tolerate the bubbly colours of the TV he will retreat to his bed when after an hour of lonely pain he will fall asleep to be haunted by Sherlock's fall. John felt a sob building up in his throat, burning its way out of his throat. He buried his face in his hands and waited for anything, any slight change that could bring relief to his mind. “ I cant do this any longer..I cant... I cant” the doctor thought and under the influence of his rage he got up and stormed to grab his keys and a coat. As soon as he was out of the door he started running, away from his home, away from all the memories. He needed to go. The dark streets echoed his footsteps as he made his way towards the centre of the town, towards any odd pub or club. It wasn't long before John started to feel dizzy from the exhaustion of running. The last time he truly ran was with Sherlock, and that was not the memory he was looking for tonight. He wanted to feel normal again, calm, peaceful, able to live his life as it supposed to be. The streets grew lighter, and neon colours started to show from around the corner. He turned himself towards the next street across from him and blended in with the crowd waiting to be let into the busy club. People surrounded him with laughter and conversations and excited chatting, and suddenly John felt his body relax a little under the influence of his surroundings. “Pass.” Barked the bouncer when it was Johns turn to get inside. Music filled his ears and the smell of sweat invited him over. He did not come here for a revelation. He was nowhere near ready to be able to start a social life, instead he safely retreated to the bar where he started off with a double of Whisky. All the trashy women in short sparkly dresses, and the examples of masculinity seemed as if in another world away from John and his thoughts. Music that at the beginning filled john's brain, making it almost sweetly impossible to think, now once again was only a slight distraction from his pain. His alcohol indulged body urged him to rest, yet his thoughts kept him awake, like a fever unable to be tamed. Drink after drink, that's all John focused on, that's all he ever wanted to know: just that there is a club and somewhere inside it he is drunk out of his mind. After a long while which felt like nothing ,John didn't even realise that the night was coming to a close, his head heavily rested on the bar table ,he forgot he existed. Getting up became an almost impossible task in the space of 4 hours, his whole body forgot how to function, his tensed up muscles finally took a break. In a sense John grew satisfied with the nights conclusion, he almost forgot who he was and what happened to him under the spell of alcohol and it felt exactly how he wanted to feel: disorientated enough to not feel pain. With his last amount of concentration John looked around for the nearest exit from the bar. He didn't care if the main one or not, he knew he needed to get out now and stumble home, intoxicated and calm. Pushing past people and brushing off against them was hard and tiring and made John frustrated. He couldn't care less now if he was too harsh to push people aside, he just did it. The back exit was closely within reach now and John forced himself to one last angry push at the door. The chilled air brushed off the doctors face giving him chills and clumsily he began to put his tangled coat on. He had no interest in decent looks and the sweet intoxication allowed him to not feel guilty about it. Swaying from right to left between the rubbish bins he could still hear the loud beat of the music. Abruptly, he lost his balance, alcohol in his brain shook him inside and out and he was made to fall into a narrow alley between the club and the main road. When the doctor's balance finally found him again he looked straight ahead of the alley. Dark figures with hushed voices stood very close to him. Even through his dizzy mind he knew the men were dealing with drugs. He saw those kinds of boys so many times in his clinic it was almost impossible to forget them. He wanted to go, turn around and walk on but something caught his attention. Or someone. “ Is it your business to be here?” exclaimed a voice from inside the alley. Fear crept up john's stomach adding to his sickness. How did he even get here tonight? Remembering anything about the night seemed impossible and John found himself having to hold on to the damp walls for balance. He wanted to leave but he couldn't move. “I..what?” is all john's drunken mind let him say. Frustration grew inside of him for the second time this evening. Why cant he just leave..” Do you want to get smashed? Get the hell outta here!” pounded another voice and this time, even through his drunken state, he could hear real aggression swelling in the man's voice. John's knees gave up and he quickly fell to the ground ,loosing a sense of being. 

“John? John can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me..” a deep, dark voice beamed at John through the hushed voices and the muted music playing somewhere...far away from John. It seemed impossible and infantile but John remembered Sherlock's voice through the man's baritone. John had no intention of straining himself to open up his eyes for the stranger, especially now that he found a comforting quality in his voice which so badly reminded John of him. The more John indulged himself in the strangers voice however, the more pain it brought to listen to it. The sweet texture of the voice dug its way through john's old wounds, that even when drunk continued to hurt. He now wanted to push the man away for giving him so much pain with only a few words, but found himself unable to move, because of alcohol, but also the man's strong arms holding his arms together. He kicked and pushed until he knew it was pointless, and was made to open up his eyes and expose himself to the neon colours of the outside of the club. Blurry outlines of a sharp face was all John saw after the first moments he opened his drunken eyes. “Please..I-” John began to mumble under his breath, wanting to say something more than random words. The face began materialising into a proper shape and only then Johns stomach gave a tremendous turn. He could feel blood rushing away from his brain and every inch of his body tensing. Johns head once pounding, now completely silent inside, completely blank, exposed to shock and fear. John could almost hear alcohol rushing away from his brain making him instantly sober bit by bit, alert and fearful. The man that stood before him, holding him in his armed in the dark, damp alley surrounded by whispers and the drug indulged men, was the only person John did not expect in his life ever again. It was the same man that John desperately wanted to feel again, to feel him close by, to know that he is alive. “John, I know.” The chocolate coloured voice crept into Johns mind once again making everything even more realistic than the second before. Each moment that passed seemed to hit John harder and harder until it was unable to bear.. “God..You can't...They said you cant...I saw you..” tension rose inside of John, his thoughts beaming and his heart racing. He couldn't stand still so he let the man before him hold him tighter in his strong arms. The same arms. A burning hotness crept up john's throat and a certain mist covered his eyes. He was too tired, to shocked and drunk to know he was crying, so he just let the tears fall down the sides of his cheeks making the man before him even more blurry. “They all said...I wanted you to come back..” John spat out through his sobs, still unable to comprehend that it was him holding him so close again. His cheeks filled themselves with hot blood and tears continuously brushed his skin. He knew that he will be taken home today, taken care off and with this realisation all he could do was let go of everything. The tall man holding John in his arms drew in a breath and held his body tighter to himself. “I Know John...I am back..”


End file.
